


Weeding It Out

by PerpetualSpinster



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Bearded Chris Evans, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetualSpinster/pseuds/PerpetualSpinster
Summary: Your garden is overgrown and could use a bit of mowing down to control its nature from choking out all of the beauty you hope to create.  Your hired help brings an abundance of know-how in manicuring the most delicate of areas that require his hoeing.  He isn't afraid to break a sweat in order to leave is client satisfied and relying on his services multiple times over.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Weeding It Out

Your patience wore thin as you sat in your backyard. The goal before summer set was to get your vegetables planted and sprouting by fall but nothing could be done with the yard overrun by a thicket of poison ivy. Your mother had already gotten her steroid shot after showing you where the best area is to start growing, unbeknownst to her that she waded through a gnarly amount of poison ivy. You saw the blisters form on her arms and neck, you weren’t risking it.

You could use a nap though, feeling your head jerk backwards under the weight of sleep as the afternoon warmth lulls you. But the gardener was supposed to be here an hour ago to spray the necessary elements that kill the weed. If you weren’t so desperate to get it over with you would’ve cancelled long ago but luckily you cleared your afternoon for this.

Your phone dings with a message:

_Your groundskeeper, Chris, will be arriving shortly. Please remember to have someone 18 years of age or older present on the property while the maintenance is performed._

“Finally.” You get up and make your way to your front door, noticing a truck parked outside.

You squint through the living room and notice the company name on the side. What he was doing, you couldn’t tell, but you are more than ready to get this show on the road.

You walk towards the truck and knock hard on the passenger window. The burly looking white dude peers over at you and rolls down the window.

“Ma’am?” he asks.

“Yeah, are you Chris? Supposed to have been here an hour ago?”

His face freezes in slow motion, looking at a notebook in his passenger seat and back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. The last job-”

“Ok, it’s fine! Long as you come on, I don’t have all day.” You stand outside his truck waiting on him.

Chris squints, anxiously biting his lip. “Ma’am, I gotta do some paperwork first, then I’ll be right with you.”

You bend into the window. “You had over an hour of time to do paperwork. And as a PAYING customer, I expect timely service or I can just find a manager who can serve me better.”

Chris rolls his window up and gets out of the car. This comment may have struck a nerve in him, but you don’t care. He struck your nerve first, why be polite when the rudeness arrived on time by being late.

He goes to the bed of his truck digging out a tool box and some hose contraption. 

“You have big arms for a gardener,” you say matter-of-factly to him, lingering your gaze along sculpted mounds that make up his biceps. Of course gardeners lug bags of soil and work with tools and heavy machinery sometimes, but dude was cut.

He closes the back of his truck, stopping short in front of you. “What is that supposed to even mean? You think I just pick flowers all day?”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Isn’t that a compliment in the end? You’re giving this attitude that I cannot be receptive to, despite how pretty you are.”

He scoffs, looking off toward your house. His jawline is strong underneath the chestnut collared beard, it’s so obvious he is fine with or without it. Quite the unicorn. Even his odd length locks give off a vibe that tempted you to pull it back and give those baby blues more spotlight.

“Is the problem this way?” he asks, pointing to the gate leading to the backyard. You nod and follow behind his perky behind.

Entering the backyard, Chris lets out a whistle. 

“And remind me how much work I’m doing in this jungle today?” He walks slowly around the overgrown parts, shouldering his way past some vines.

You stammer past your embarrassment. “I have added plants for aesthetic, thank you! All I need is the poison ivy knocked out in that corner. I can’t have that shit turning me into a mess.”

Chris looks back at you sarcastically. “Right, that’ll do it. And these are all just weeds-”

“No opinions! Get to work!” You command, sitting back on your wicker seat to watch him work. Chris sets down his box and pulls out gloves, a solution bottle, some handheld clippers, and a mask. Putting it on, he looks toward the corner you pointed out and meanders over there carefully. You can tell he lifts something other than flowers with a wide back like his and shoulders giving you more views than the nature surrounding him. 

The ivy falls to the ground as he snips away at it. You sigh happily feeling your ancestors pride at the white man tilling your grounds. 

As he pulls out his bottle of solution, hooking it up to a hose he says, “You may want to step inside. This isn’t safe to inhale and any wind could blow it on you.”

You shrug, getting up cheerily. “Fine with me. I needed a drink anyway! Like I said, just don’t get into my other plants please.”

In your fridge you pull out a pitcher of lemonade you made fresh from powder. You pour a glass for yourself and walk back to the sliding glass door to check out his handiwork. Chris certainly came off as a professional, spraying only the necessary amount on certain parts of the plant. His brow furrowed as he kept track of each misting of his equipment, working deeper into the brush. 

You hadn’t seen a man of his pedigree in a while. Fit, fine, and fixes shit? That checks your most important boxes of what stirs your pot in a partner. You take a slow sip of the semi sweet drink and let the chill liquid do its work on cooling your thirst as Chris walks back out from the poison ivy area to take his shirt off.

You almost spat all over your glass as you stood further to one side so you weren’t fully visible. As he peels his shirt off, you got the behind the scenes look of what he had to work with. His pants ride low on his hips, exposing the dips in his hips that naturally lead your eyes to what his zipper hides. The feathering of hair that outlines his pecs and down the middle of his stomach forced you to bite your fingernails to keep from reaching through the glass. He folds his shirt hastily in a ball form and tosses it on his toolbox, resting his hands on his hips until he looks over at the other side of your yard. He struts over to some of your vines, showing off his back end some more, giving them a once over before getting down on his knees taking off his gloves and pulling at the roots.

Your instincts jump into action as your set aside your drink and rush over to him. 

“Hey! I said no!” When you reach him he is still pulling at the ground. You feel like it’s a trap to tap him on the shoulder since his skin is exposed and you weren’t shy about how you thought he looked earlier, but to hell with it.

Tap Tap. “Chris! You’re ruining my flower bed.”

Chris stops with a huff before looking at your and pulling you by the hand down next to him.

“You haven’t done anything to this ground, have you?” He asks, digging his hands deep into the soil. 

You smack off the excess dirt he got on you. “I spread some seeds once a while back,”

He chuckles, stopping to look at you like a lecturing parent. “If that’s how the world worked, it would look a lot like your backyard.”

“My yard is fine! And what do you mean, it’s growing,” you say with a pout.

“No, it’s suffocating. That’s why you need to weed all this, it will overpower what you want to grow and kill it. Look…” he firmly grasps your hand and sticks it in the soil, making you snicker.

“See how dry the top layer is? And I even see some seeds that barely sprouted and aren’t worth growing. But dig a little deeper and you see those roots that are thick and long? Those are weeds. They survive on almost nothing because they parasite off of anything.”

You feel the cool soft soil he dug up, squishing it in your fingers. “That really is nice soil.”

Chris scratches his neck. “Yeah, it’s just bad when you don’t treat it right. I can come back and show you if you want? Make up for the trouble of being late.”

“Thanks, I would like that.”

You both sit in silence a minute, digging around the dirt for weeds and things, running across a snail shell.

“Ooh! Look!” He crawl on your knees toward him holding the delicate artifact. “I loved finding these when I was a kid.” You took his hand and dropped the shell in his palm. “But Lord forbid if I ran across a snail in one, I flipped my wig!”

Chris holds it between his thumb and index finger, looking at you inquisitively. “They don’t bite, you know.”

“I know, they were just slimy and gross. Keep that one, I’ll find another I’m sure.” You get back to tearing into the ground.

“Why did you laugh earlier when I pulled you down? I thought you would snap my head off for putting you in the dirt,” he asks.

“Well I was startled at best, but it reminded me of how my Grandmother taught me about yard work and her flowerbed and shit. I wouldn’t get near it if she wasn’t dragging me to it.”

“And how would she feel about your yard now?” Chris asks with a slight smirk. 

“WOW! Yeah she is rolling over in her grave, thanks Chris!”’ You say in a serious tone but smile the whole way through it, bringing out his laugh. “And put your shirt back on, you ain’t that hot out here. I mean, it’s not that hot out here.”

Chris shakes his head. “I didn’t take it off for you…poison ivy can affect you if you touch anything that touched it, hence my shirt.”

You give a guttural laugh. “Uh huh, likely story.”

Chris smacks the dirt off his hands, resolving himself. “Then go get the damn shirt if you’re so confident. See what pops up in the next morning or two.”

You cross your arms indignantly. “I ain’t doing shit for you. You work for me! Think you so cute, probably pull shit like this on old white women but I ain’t-”

Chris pulls you closer to him by your wrists, saying in a tone coming from the depths, “You’re a little stuck up for my taste.”

This sudden change in his demeanor triggered your fight response. You wrangle your wrists free and start to get up but trip on a hole in the dirt, falling partially on Chris as he tries to catch you. You knock some wind out of him as he lets out an oof. 

“Ow, shit. Are you ok?” You ask with a wince.

Chris holds you in his arms staring up at you with a wide eyed wonder. You feel his heartbeat under your hands thumping hard.

You look down at his hairy chest and paw at its texture curiously.

“What do you want to do?” he asks. 

You plant your lips on his right pec, feeling him inhale against your mouth. You let out a deep satisfied moan for having achieved one desire.

Chris’ hands feel down your back and across your shorts, pulling your upward.

“Take them off,” he commands, helping you with the button and zipper.

You stand over him, pulling down your shorts and panties. “I have wanted to put your face in the dirt since you came here.” 

Chris looks up at you with one hand behind his head, smiling. “Oh yeah?”

“But this seems like a better idea, just don’t get cocky about it.” You hover yourself over him before settling knees, sitting your pussy right on his mouth, beard tickling the inner softness of your thighs. You rode your lips over his, using his hair as your reins. His hands grip your cheeks sturdily as he works his tongue over your labia liberally, then finding your center to tongue fuck your walls. 

You sit up, resting yours hands on his chest behind you. “If you don’t suck my clit, I swear to God.”

His eyes smile at your before your lips surround your clit and put in the work you required all this time. So much for not getting cocky. You buck against his mouth, fighting your body’s desire to flee from the over stimulation but Chris’ forearms lock your thighs down to keep you in place. Your climax ran over him several times as you shrieked to the sun without a care of who heard. 

Before you knew it, Chris rudely flips you off of him, turning you over in the dirt.

“Just so you know the feeling is mutual.” His hand lifts you ass up as you sputter weed clippings from your mouth. 

“I knew you weren’t shit,” you say, looking back at his to see him having pulled down his pants, stroking his fully ready member and headed straight for you-

Your phone rings, waking you up from a deep nap. 

“Shit! What the fuck!” You curse in confusion as you drunkenly reach for your phone that fell off into the grass.

“Hello!” you say loudly.

“Yeah, sorry for the late arrival, but I am at your front door. This is Chris with the grounds keeping company.”

You almost drop the phone and run to the door. How was that dream so vivid to not be real? 

You peek through the front door but the guy is facing away, so you open it reluctantly.

“Sorry, I dozed off there,” you say meekly.

The deja vu you feel when he turns around almost knocks you backwards. The same hair, beard, wide shoulders. But this time he was a lot more smiley on introduction.

“Hi I’m Chris. You needed help with your back garden?” he asks.

You lick your lips, put on a smile and ask, “Yes. But how about a drink first?”


End file.
